


we'll go back there

by ygrittebardots



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Class Differences, Drabble Collection, F/M, First Dates, Road Trips, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-09 16:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1989684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ygrittebardots/pseuds/ygrittebardots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Jon/Ygritte shorts based on Tumblr prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. surprise: modern au

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: "jon+ygritte modern au, ygritte telling jon she's pregnant, which totally wasn't planned"

Ygritte’s eyes snap open, and at first she thinks Jon’s stolen the covers - _again_ \- but then she sees the tell-tale sign of icy silver breath in the dark and a few glimmering flakes of snow dancing about in the corner of her line of vision. The bloody latch again. Pulling the blankets more tightly around her, she kicks Jon awake.

“Mph,” he grumbles, and tries to spoon her.

“Close the window,” she yawns, curling into the pillow.

A pronounced groan makes its way out of the shag of curly black hair obscuring Jon’s face. “I did it last time,” he says.

“I put out the bins.”

“I made dinner.”

“I’ve got your kid in me.”

She hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t even known it until the morning before, but the dark hours of the morning are not a time for rational thinking. And the moment she realizes what she’s done, Ygritte goes very, very still. Slowly, too slowly, Jon’s hand pushes his hair out the way.

Shit.

It would have been better if he’d yelled, or gone pale, or if his eyes had bugged out and he’d started hyperventilating. Those are normal reactions to the news you’ve knocked up your girlfriend. This entirely unreadable expression as he simply stares at her is not. It's a million times worse than anything she expected, and suddenly a thousand thoughts are fleeting through her mind. 

About Val and the abortion clinic and the two poor sods she’d never even told because they weren’t anything to her, and they were kids, really, hardly ready to be parents. About her own parents, dead and gone long before she was old enough for memories to take hold. About Jon, who never knew his dad. About Lyanna, pregnant and alone at sixteen.

Oh, Lyanna is going to _murder_ them both.

Jon’s still staring at her, his mouth slightly parted, his breathing disturbingly regular.

“Are you sure?” he asks, finally.

Chewing on the inside of her lip, Ygritte can’t look at him. She nods.

Suddenly, Jon rolls out of bed. Oh, no bloody way. Heart beating rapidly, she’s about to jump up too, go after him, make him at least talk to her. But then she hears the window shut and the latch grind closed, and then he’s jumped right back in next to her, practically on _top_ of her, with a smile wide and bright enough to blind the sun.


	2. winter hols: modern au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Modern AU where Jon is about to introduce Ygritte to his family, and she gets very nervous, quiet and vulnerable for once, which makes Jon all emotional in return."

It’s just stopped snowing when the paved road turns into the familiar fir-lined gravel path leading home.

“Oy, meathead, you missed a turn somewhere back there.”

“I didn’t.”

Ygritte frowns, and uncrosses her legs from the passenger seat dashboard in order to lean forward in her seat for a better look at Winterfell as it looms out of the snowy fog in the distance. Jon fiddles with the volume dial on the radio, bringing Oasis down to a soft lull in the background.

“That’s it?” she asks finally.

“What?”

“That’s your house, that’s where you grew up?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Oh, I’m Jon Snow and I live in a great bleeding castle and didn’t think it was worth mentioning when I invited my girlfriend over for winter hols,” Ygritte scoffs in a voice that sounds absolutely nothing like Jon’s, thanks very much.

He rolls his eyes. “Come off it - you knew who my family was, what’d you expect?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, much more quietly.

Jon looks over at the passenger seat, expecting to see any number of things. A careless flip of ginger hair, a cheeky grin or one eyebrow raised all cocky as she does. Instead, Ygritte’s slumped back in her seat, staring resolutely out the window away from him, hands shoved deep in the pockets of her brown jumper.

When he tries to slip his hand in next to hers, she doesn’t protest, but neither does she look at him. Frowning, Jon pulls the car off to the side of the road and kills the engine.

“What’s the problem?”

She pulls their hands out of her pocket and pulls hers away, still not looking at him.

“Ygritte - “

“What are we doing?” she asks quietly, finally turning to face him. “This is ridiculous. I’m a barmaid from the Fist and you grew up in a castle.”

Always too Northern to turn red, Jon feels heat begin to pool to his face all the same. “It’s not like that, you know it isn’t.”

“Oh, it’s not, is it? So, what are we, then?”

This isn’t right, and Jon can’t sit there anymore, watching Ygritte - fierce, brash, annoying as hell Ygritte - talk like this. Abruptly he reaches over and flicks her on the ear with his nail.

“Oy!” she shouts, grabbing his wrist. “That hurt.”

“Good,” he responds. “Now will you please shut up?”

“‘Will you please shut up?’” she mimics.

He ignores her. “Yeah, alright, you’re a barmaid. You’re also top of your class and single-handedly responsible for the gender-neutral bathrooms on campus. You’re probably gonna be the bloody PM someday. Now me? Grew up in a castle, yeah. Also the result of the 1993 Parliament sex scandal. My best friend’s a dog and I’ve got horrible taste in music.”

“Alright, I get it,” Ygritte snaps.

Jon’s ears are hot and he can feel his heart pounding somewhere in his throat.

“Do you?”

For a moment Ygritte looks like she’s going to shout again, but then her face relaxes and she says quite reasonably, “Yes.” Then she leans over and lands a fat raspberry on his ear.

By the time he’s fought her off and gotten the car back on the gravel, Ygritte’s turned the volume back up and is wearing a grin that’s nothing short of evil. 


	3. first date: modern au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Ygritte picks Jon up for their first date and is all sassy about it"

He’s barely slammed the car door shut next to him when she’s reaching over and tousling his hair with her hand, flicking drops of water all across the dashboard and the knees of his jeans.

“Oy!” Jon says indignantly, slapping her hand away.

Ygritte frowns.

“You showered.”

“Yeah, and you know it takes a million years to dry off, it’s that thick, so thanks very much.”

She’s still frowning a bit, but there’s a twinkle in her eye and the corner of her mouth is beginning to curve dangerously upward. “You showered for me, yeah?”

Jon can feel the tips of his ears going hot. He rolls his eyes and says, “Don’t get cute,” and wonders not for the first time if this is the worst idea he’s ever had. 

Hanging out with Ygritte is one thing - between coursework and mountain climbing and exchanging music he’d just about got the hang of ignoring the part where he wants to snog her senseless. Then she’d had to go and proper ask him out, and it’s only thanks to Robb and his infallible pep talks he’d been able to convince himself that saying yes wouldn’t ruin everything.

Ygritte studies him for a long moment, then flips her loose ginger hair casually over a milk-white freckled shoulder before shooting him a grin of pure evil.

“Well,” she says, reaching into the backseat, only to return with two pairs of paint-spattered goggles dangling from her hand, “I hope you brought a change of clothes, at least.”


	4. detonate: scottish independence au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Modern AU of Ygritte's death"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This belongs to something I call the [Robb's Rebellion AU](http://ygrittebardots.tumblr.com/post/90411550432/asoiaf-au-theyre-calling-it-robbs-rebellion).

By the time he stumbles into his darkened flat, it’s 3:55 in the morning and Jon’s been on the batter since well before noon. He doesn’t make it as far as his bedroom, doesn’t acknowledge the small sober part of him that won’t let him get that far because that’s  _their_  space and he won’t go there without  _her_. Instead, he passes out on the sofa, her old oversized army jacket pressed tightly between his chest and arms.

He’s pissed out of his senses, but his dreams are sharp and clear. The busy Edinburgh intersection, cars zooming past. The colors are all too vivid. Finally he spots her across the way, hair a brighter red than it actually was, tee whiter and jeans bluer and every inch as beautiful as ever. 

He hasn’t seen her in two months, assignment with NW and her’s with the Free Folk Liberation Army keeping them apart, but there she is all the same and there’s a part of him that knows instantly Robb’s arranged it. There isn’t much of a place for personal affairs when you’re fronting the three heads of the independence movement - and with Mormont and Mance and Dad gone, that’s exactly what they’re doing - but Robb’s made it happen anyway, and Jon instantly loves his brother more than ever for that.

Ygritte sees him then, and for a moment everything stops. The cars slow, the colors pale around her, the sounds of the city fade as nothing exists but the two of them. He smiles.

Then everything comes rushing back - the cars, the colors, the noise, everything magnified to an almighty roar as the bomb in the parked car in front of her detonates. The world explodes, and in his sleep Jon clutches the jacket more tightly to his chest.


	5. an abduction: modern au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Ygritte talks Jon into going on a road trip"

Jon really ought to know something’s up when Ygritte shows up at the end of the day. She hates driving, only does it when absolutely necessary, only owns the damn thing because Mance left it to her and it’s dead practical for work. In their three years of dating and two years of cohabitation, she’s never so much as offered to pick him up from work, never mind just up and done it out of the blue.

“Get in, Snow,” she orders through the rolled-down window. “It’s dead nasty out.”

He doesn’t mind the walk from the North County Police Station to their apartment, and he’s definitely done it in worse weather than this, but mentioning that just results in Ygritte clamping her hand over his entire face.

They drive for a few minutes - Jack White strumming on the radio while Ygritte chats on a bit about a bit of new legislature and the latest sexual assault charges that’ve come up against Styr Thenn - until Jon notices where they are and frowns.

“You’ve gone the wrong way.”

“Have I?” she asks, her face entirely neutral, but there’s an edge in her voice that Jon recognizes, one that makes him instantly suspicious. It’s the tone she gets when something’s going exactly the way she’s planned it and he’s only just started to catch up - something he’s loathe to admit happens quite a lot.

And that’s when he notices the box at his feet, an assortment of crisps and bottled water and beer cluttered about under a couple of sandwiches. He twists around in his seat as she pulls the car onto the highway. There are two fat duffle bags thrown carelessly into the backseat.

“Ygritte, what…”

“We’re having a holiday.”

“No, Ygritte, I can’t,” Jon protests. “I have _work_.”

“Grenn’s got your patrols covered.”

“That’s not the way it works at - “

“Mormont cleared it.”

“And didn’t think to tell me?”

“I told them to keep it quiet.”

Jon’s eyes go wide. He tries not to think about what it says about their relationship that he doesn’t find Ygritte kidnapping him surprising. But the lads at the station conspiring with her? Well, also not surprising, just something that’s not happened yet. He gives it one last feeble attempt.

“But someone’s got to feed and walk Ghost,” he manages, though he knows the answer already.

“Sam and Tormund are taking it in turns,” she says, not missing a beat.

Of course they are.

“But. Why?” asks Jon lamely.

“Mainly,” Ygritte replies, “so Robb gets off my back about not seeing you ever. He’s _your_ brother, you’d think he’d give you an earful every now and again - why, exactly, is it he’s replaced you with me as his general life advisor?”

“Well I don’t really fall over myself for him the way most girls do.”

“D’you see me falling over myself for him?”

“There’s a point.”

This, Jon feels, is actually the reason _why_ Robb likes her so much.

“Anyway,” she carries on, “things’ve been a bit mad with the party and you’ve got your crap hours, and it just seems we’ve not had much time together. Nothing like hours on end trapped in a small metal box to fix that, eh?”

Jon tries not to feel guilty. He fails. Because she’s right, their hours have been completely off from each other. Ygritte’s been up to her eyes with work, but he’s been worse. With the Walkers terrorizing North County and the Fist all winter, Jon doesn’t remember the last time one of them came home to find the other still awake.

“Don’t look so grim, Jon Snow,” Ygritte says with a grin, and turns up the radio. 

When Jon places his hand on the back of her neck, fingers just barely carding into the soft red curls at the nape, she leans into its warmth and for the briefest of moments closes her eyes. 

“Thank you,” he says, and means it.


	6. wonderwall: modernised westeros au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Please come get me."

It’s just past three in the morning when the dark calm of Jon’s room is interrupted by an enthusiastic, if a bit off-key, rendition of the chorus of _Wonderwall._ Jon, for the record, is not one for personalised ringtones, but his brother and girlfriend’s discovery of their mutual deep and abiding love of Oasis had, of course, led to the inevitable. Robb and Ygritte’s voices screaming happily from his phone, therefore, could only mean one of two things.

And given the state of his relationship at the moment, Jon, in his sleep-addled state, is pretty sure he knows which.

“Robb?” he croaks, pushing wayward curls away from his eyes.

“Jon,” comes a voice that’s definitely not Robb from the other end of the line, so hoarse and small that he nearly doesn’t recognise it at first. “Please come get me.”

Fifteen minutes later, when Jon pulls up in Sam’s car to the corner of Essex and Thenn, Ygritte is sitting on the front step of her building, hair braided messily under a knit cap, a cigarette clenched between trembling fingers. She flicks it away before climbing in beside him, and her hands are white with the cold, and her sweater smells like ash.

“Just drive,” she says. 

“Ygritte - ”

“Please.”

That’s twice she’s said _please_ to him in less than a half hour, and twice more than she’s ever said it to him before now, so Jon does it. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He doesn’t ask about the dry tracks tracing down her cheeks. He doesn’t ask why she’s stopped returning his calls, why she’s begun to shrug from his touch, why she’s not said more than three words to him over the past few days.

Instead, he drives. Through Wildlingtown, past the public library and the diner where Gilly works, past the crumbling remains of the ancient wall. The city lights of Castle Black blur together in the darkness, and still Jon drives. He needn’t say where he’s going, doesn’t really register it beyond instinct. She doesn’t ask. Just rolls down the window and gulps in breath after breath of the chilly night air until finally the urge is too great to resist. Ygritte does not protest as his hand curls around hers; instead, her fingers are soon so tightly clamped around his that Jon is quite sure his entire hand will have gone white by now. Still, he says nothing, and she stares out the window, and soon the neon city gives way to highway headlights, and then that too fades away into the dark as he takes an abrupt turn off an exit.

The pounding of his heart beating a steady tattoo against his chest is subtle, but it is there. He doesn’t know if it’s the fear of the past few days that’s grown in the wake of her silence, or the fragile tangibility of her hand gripping his. The reality that she is here, that she can be touched, that she _wants_ him. That she, the only one who ever has, still does. For the moment, anyway, even if she will not put into words why.

He kills the engine somewhere on the outskirts of Last Hearth when the dim light of the radio clock reads quarter past four, and Ygritte abruptly pulls her hand from his and gets out of the car. She’s sitting on the hood when he follows, another cigarette already lit, and lets him wrap his arm around her waist.

“I usually get stoned off my dick today,” she says suddenly. “But this year I just sort of cried.”

There’s a small photograph clenched tightly in her other hand, Jon realises when she presses it into his. It’s old and grainy, but he can make out a woman in a huge coat and a man with hair as bright as the sun. Ygritte’s hair. A young girl perches on his shoulders, threatening to fall off, and Jon’s blood runs cold. People often pity him for having a dead father and an unknown mother. Those who still cling to the old ways sneer at him for it. He doesn’t know if this is worse. 

They don’t talk about this. Not really.

There’s a lot they don’t talk about.

“You should have told me,” he says, and she lets him fold her in his arms without comment or protest. _Don’t shut me out_ , is what he doesn’t say. _I can help. I_ can _. But only if I know I’m not the problem._  

“I know,” she says, and he doesn’t know what she wants to say instead.


End file.
